


The Niccals Brothers Incorperated

by conboimckinky



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 50s au, Gangster/Superstar, Homophobic Slurs, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Appropraite Homophobia, Period-Appropriate Racism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Substance Abuse, Unhealthy Relationships, descriptions of violence, friendships, gangster au, implied rape, mentions of child abuse, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:09:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conboimckinky/pseuds/conboimckinky
Summary: 1953. East End London.The specifics don't matter.The Niccals Brothers- an unstoppable gangster duo- are slowly taking control of London's streets. As their business gets bigger, they decide to relocate and expand.Murdoc expects to live the rest of his life with the infinite gang protection and violence that he enjoys so much, but then his new surroundings introduce him to club singer Stuart Pot, and he isn't so sure.But loyalty matters most to the thugs of the London streets. Can he protect himself and the ones he loves when presented with the most difficult choice of his life?





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1  
\-----------

1953\. East End London. 

The specifics don't matter. 

Murdoc Niccals, one half of London gangster duo The Niccals Brothers, strolled up to the railings of the River Thames. Heavy brass knuckledusters weighed down his tight trouser pocket and the bloodstains on his shirt were hidden by the dark street lamps and the long black bag in his arms. 

With a grunt, he tossed it forward, and the bricks tied on top dragged it down to the bottom of the river. He watched it sink for a second. If his calculations were correct, the copper on the beat would round the corner in half a minute. Murdoc spun on his Cuban heels and touched his forehead. His hand came away sticky and warm, but he couldn't see much in the dark, so he walked off instead. 

-

"Did you in, 'en?" 

Murdoc rolled his eyes. His brother sat at the head of the table, his back to the door, dwarfing it with his size. He'd always been bigger- broad shoulders, square head (that he'd recently shaved), built like a tank. He dwarfed Murdoc the same way he did the table, who was all short, lean muscle. But Hannibal Niccals refused to be a bent man, so his scrawny-looking younger brother was the 'muscle', doing the dirty work. They viewed it as an intelligent move- most people expected tank-built Hannibal to be the fighter, but Murdoc had speed and the element of surprise, and loved bare-knuckle fighting on the weekends. 

The only thing the brothers had in common was their long noses- almost comically long. That was their status symbol. Murdoc loved breaking the noses of people who stared at theirs. His had been broken so many times in return that it didn't really resemble his brother's anymore- it was too crooked, smashed shorter. Faintly, he can hear his father.

'Bash that stupid snout straight into your skull.' 

He hung his coat on the rack and made his way through the flat into the kitchen. Much to his surprise, his brother wasn't alone. To Hannibal's left sat a man taller than both of them, nose almost as long, with a fading widows peak and a crinkly frown. His suit was cheaply made- much cheaper than their own. It was clear that he was either new to the game or not in it all. Murdoc gave him a weary once over, but the occasional visitor to the flat wasn't unusual. Instead of dwelling on it, he put the kettle on the stove and turned to the big mirror behind the table, leaning right across it to inspect the gash on his forehead. 

He could feel Hannibal's eyes on him. 

Once he'd confirmed that it wasn't anything to be too concerned about- just a little split from where the bastard had smashed a larger bottle against his head- he looked down at the stranger, frowning, still leant halfway across the table.

"Who the fuck are you 'en? Don't you know it's rude to sit in a man's home without tellin' him what your business is?" 

The man (although he seemed younger than Murdoc, and definitely younger then Hannibal) seemed to jump at that. He sat up a little straighter and pulled at his shirt collar, and then glanced hopelessly at the older brother. 

"This is Ace," Hannibal introduced smoothly, unfazed by Murdoc's intimidation. "He owns a club in the centre, near Tottenham. Says it's really popular, but he owes quite a few people money and he's interested in offerin' us a business deal for our protection. Says he tried asking around his area and a couple'a locals directed him to us. Ain't that sweet?" 

The kettle started whistling on the stove, so Murdoc got up instead of answering. He glanced at his brother, who shook his head, and then at Ace- the stranger- who nodded tentatively.

"Very sweet. How'd you take it?" 

"Milk and two sugars, please," he replied in a thick American-Italian accent, and Murdoc struggled not to laugh. 

"You ain't from 'round here, then?" 

"Uh, no, boss-"

"He ain't the boss," Hannibal cut in quickly, "just Niccals'll do."

"Uh, no, Niccals," Ace corrected. "Lived in New York my whole life, but my family's as Italian as they come."

"Why'd you move here, then?" Murdoc asked, finishing the tea and placing Ace's in front of him. He pulled the chair out at the other end of the table, feeling the knuckledusters in his pocket press against his leg, a sensation that had come to comfort him over the years.

"Like your brother said, I owe a lotta people money. Y'know, times are hard for anyone who ain't a cop or famous or in with the Lords and Ladies, ain't they? Got into a coupla gangs, dealt with some dodgy stuff, and had to run fast- didn't think they'd follow me." He explained, accent still terrible and hilarious to Murdoc, who had reached for his hip flask and poured whisky into his tea, to which Hannibal gave a grunt of disappointment that the younger brother ignored. 

"Ah, alright," he replied, nodding, and then looking at Hannibal expectantly.

"Alright, pal, what're you offerin'? We don't work for nothing," the oldest asked. 

Murdoc admired his head for business. Not that he wasn't intelligent himself, he just flew off the handle in seconds. Ace was withholding something important- he could tell. Why had he had to run? Surely a steady business like dodgy wears wasn't a life risk? As far as he knew, it was the same kind of firm game in the US. 

"Well, uh, this club I own, yeah? All brought out of bent cash, got a lotta bent employees, but it pays well, so I don't wanna lose it. It's all I've got to my name-"

"We don't take sob stories," Murdoc cut in, one hand held up, ready to dismiss him. 

"This ain't a sob story," Ace retaliated, although he seemed to become drained of colour when the youngest brother, shirt still stained red, gave him a withering glare. "It ain't. Listen, I know you guys wanna expand, and I know you ain't gonna get anywhere opertin' outta this flat, okay? A business like your own needs a respectable work environment, get it? And I also know the ol' bill are on your asses. So, the deal is, I give you seventy percent of the money from my club, let you claim it as your own, and use it as a business front for anythin' the coppers try to pull up, and you let me keep thirty percent, and protect me from the fuckers on my trail." 

His piece finished, Ace sat back and took his mug in both hands, bringing it up to his face and sipping loudly.

The brothers looked at each other. Despite their classic sibling inability to get along, they could read each other very well, although Ace was none the wiser. It was clear to both of them that they wanted to take the deal. Their flat was the same they'd grown up in, right down to the crack in the kitchen tile where Murdoc had had his baby teeth knocked out, to the three broken banisters Hannibal had been shoved through. The wall paper was old and peeling and it was still full to the brim with their fathers special assortment of crap that he'd left there. 

And the police were suspicious. The Niccals Brothers had gotten around. It was quickly becoming a name muttered on every street corner. A name that made people who couldn't pay them back quiver with fear. And the old bill were getting wind of the rip in London's bedsheets. 

They did, of course, have to consider how vulnerable the move would make them. Everyone would know exactly where to find them. Hannibal was relatively safe from harm because he never got his hands dirty, but there was an underground ransom on Murdoc's head and he was pretty sure the terms were dead or alive. 

A few moments passed where the duo just looked at each other. Hannibal nodded slowly, and his younger brother directed his attention to Ace. He studied him for another silent second. Definitely new to the business. Probably easy to fuck over. Seemed gullible, like he didn't think things through properly.

But ultimately trust worthy.

Murdoc caught his brothers eye again and then nodded.

"We'll take it," Hannibal announced, turning his ice-cold gaze in Ace's direction. "But lower our cut to sixty for now." 

Ace seemed baffled by this. He put his mug down and frowned. Murdoc glared at him, still considering him a stranger.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, we're sure. Sixty-forty to us, and you get our protection. My brother here'll be takin' charge of the physical side of that, right?" 

Ace glanced at Murdoc almost doubtfully, like everyone did. The younger brother raised his eyebrows in response. With an bored expression, he pulled out the knuckledusters and slammed them on the table. In the light, he could see that the fucker he'd just ditched had bled all over the brass. Just to further prove his point, he unbuttoned his shirt further to reveal a handgun hidden, strapped to his side. 

"Look at me like that again, and you'll need to pay some other bastard for protection, 'cause I'll break ya fuckin' back with my bare hands, got it?" Murdoc practically snarled, eyes like daggers.

Ace gulped and then nodded slowly. The oldest of the duo seemed unfazed by his brothers threats. He was used to watching Murdoc 'assure' their clients that he was more than capable of dealing with any obstacles in their way. Ace reached into his own pocket and produced a set of keys to the club.

"Wanna go view your new property?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two  
\-------------

It was big. 

Much bigger than they were used to. 

Murdoc made them wait so he could clean himself up. He stood towards the edge of the pavement in a clean shirt, tighter trousers, and suspenders that he actually didn't need, but he'd always been one for useless fashion. There was a cigarette dangled between his teeth to mask the frown he knew he'd have.

He glanced at his brother, who met his eyes with a small nod. Despite Hannibal's usual stoic expression plastered permanently on his mug, Murdoc could see something in his eyes. They were thinking the same thing as Ace pulled the shutters up with a grunt.

-

They're younger again. Murdoc about six, sporting a fresh black eye for giving his father cheek in the car, and Hannibal twelve years old, already miles above Murdoc. 

Sebastian moves forward, stumbles up the foreign stairs that his drunken feet aren't used to yet, and struggles with the keys to the new flat. 

It seems huge. Too big for them. The windows aren't smashed in or grey with grime. The door handle isn't hanging on by a thread. The corridor smells a bit sour, Murdoc thinks, like his dad's bedroom, and he can tell by the look on Hannibal's face that he notices it too. 

Finally, Sebastian gets the door unlocked. The inside is just as new. There's no holes in the plaster or cracked photo frames or inexplainable stains on the ugly green carpet. The floor is completely free of worn-down shoes, cigarette cartons, and empty glass bottles. The inside smells worse- like dust and mold and something Murdoc can't describe yet- but it seems like luxury all the same.

Compared to the last place, anyway.

His brother drops the eye contact when their father spins around. He flings his arms out and grins, and Murdoc wants to punch him. Even at six years old, it still registers that this 'new' place is just another prison, although he hopes for the first time in his life he's wrong.

"Welcome to our new home, boys," the man announces, slurring, teetering slightly from the compromised balance holding his arms out results in, "we're gonna be very happy here." 

-

Murdoc blinked just in time for Hannibal to clear his throat. Clearly the eldest had picked up on the brief memory, and hadn't been to happy that Murdoc had zoned out in its favour. Their eyes met again and the look the younger brother received was harsh, cold, demanding.

Familiar. Sometimes, Hannibal's face resembled their fathers a bit too much. Without a word, Murdoc pulled out his flask of whiskey from his pocket and tipped some of the classic southern comfort down his throat. He could feel his brothers huff, but never managed to force himself to care.

The tension seemed to go straight over Ace's head. He'd pushed the shutters up and opened the doors, large and heavy, with colourfully stained glass in the shape of angular roses. The sign above the door swung precariously above their heads as the brothers and their new business partner entered.

The inside resembled any other pub Murdoc Niccals had visited. The bar stretched across one wall, mirrors behind it, red velvet topped stalls lined up in front, an almost impressive amount of spirits lined up on the shelves. A polished jukebox stood to attention to the left, and various pictures of London's busy streets hung on the cream and red walls. Tables and booths were clean, and all the decor matched perfectly- but it was just like any other bar.

Until he turned around. At the other end of the room sat a large stage, ruby curtains hiding anything but the lights around the edge and the empty microphone stand. Tables- adorned with cream coloured cloths- had been pushed towards it, gathering as close as possible like a gaggle of geese. Murdoc studied it in awe. 

"Real nice place," Hannibal commented, loud enough to catch his younger brothers attention and pull him from his gazing. 

Ace seemed more at-ease in the bar. He lifted the hatch and walked through to stand behind it, motioning for the brothers to take a stool each. Business was the most important thing.

But first...

"Yeah, I'm pretty proud of it, to be honest," he replied, and Murdoc slid into the stool next to Hannibal. "Can I get ya anythin' to drink? On the house from now on, eh?" 

"No-"

"A pint would be fuckin' marvellous, lad, cheers," Murdoc cut in.

Hannibal struck out his leg and kicked him, hard, and the younger brother had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from yelping.

Apparently missing the assault, Ace just nodded and turned, flicking the overhead lights on as he pulled a pint for Murdoc and another for himself.

Hannibal didn't look impressed. Murdoc caught his eye and gave him a shit-eating grin. He'd won that round. The oldest brother tried to ignore it and reached for his carton of cigarettes instead.

"Mind if I-?"

"No, 'course not. Go ahead." 

They sipped their pints as Hannibal lit up a cigarette, and then it was time for business. 

"Got flats up top?" Murdoc asked, leaning onto the bar with one elbow. 

"Ah, yeah- two free ones. I've taken the third, and sometimes Stu or Noodle stays in the fourth," Ace explained.

"Stew? Noodle? You're jus' namin' foods, lad."

He could practically feel Hannibal roll his eyes. 

"Stop behavin' like a twat, Doc," he said, stern, taking a drag on his fag and not even looking at Murdoc. 

"Oh, fuck off!" Murdoc responded.

It was all just a bit much. The new place. The business talk. The moving. As much as he hated it, Murdoc Niccals was comfortable in the other flat. It was overflowing with terrible memories of even worse people, but it was and had been home since he was six. And he wasn't anywhere near drunk enough. 

"Watch your tone." 

Sometimes Hannibal sounded too much like their father. 

That seemed to flip a switch in Murdoc. He glared, hard, and then downed his pint wordlessly, slamming the glass down with more force than he needed to. Ace had ducked behind the bar to count the money in the till. He turned around at the scrape of stool legs on the hardwood floor.

"What fuckin' time do you open?" Murdoc asked, face twisted in irritation. 

Hannibal just looked at him. Unimpressed. Unamused. Uninterested. He was used to it- used to his younger brother kicking off like their old man. That's why he did the violent, dirty work.

"Uh, six," Ace replied, understandable hesitant.

Murdoc nodded and then kicked his stool over for dramatic effect, the sound as it hit the floor loud and startling- exactly what he was going for. In silence, he stormed out of the pub, tugging his flask from his pocket as the doors crashed to a close behind him.

There was no point in him getting involved in the business side of things anyway, he thought, tipping the burning booze down his throat.


End file.
